Property of Pinkamina
by Hells True Mistress
Summary: Pinkie Pie belongs to her own darkness, and Pinkamina – the very manifestation of that darkness – makes sure that the godlike entity trying to corrupt Pinkie knows that. Rating for mild levels of mindfuckness.


**Disclaimer: Disclaimed**

 **Warnings: I have really don't know what the warnings on this should be, but there definitely needs to be something.**

 **I have no idea why I wrote this instead of just letting it die in my head.**

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The pink one laughed at it. Of course it laughed: that was what the pink one did. Regardless of circumstance, the pink one laughed.

The thing had actually liked the pink one, it was so bouncy and fluffy, so alive, and so very corruptible. At least that is what it had thought, but now the pink one was laughing at it.

It was not the fact of the laughter that surprised the thing, it was everything but the fact of the laughter. It had expected laughs, and giggles, and all those other sounds of amusement that vibrant creature used to mask and conquer fear. It had expected smiles and not quite forced joy; it had not expected defiant mockery.

The powerful, twisted entity could not comprehend what was happening. The pink one had burst into snide, scornful laughter moments after being presented it with – what was as for as the being was concerned – the most tempting of offers. Looking down at the comparatively minuscule spec of colour the godlike being tried to understand. It could not.

Suddenly the pink one's hair fell flat and it stopped laughing. It seemed to lose so much of its colour while staying the exact same shade it had always been. This confused the entity more.

The others noticed the change in the pink one, and some even moved – to speak or to act, it did not matter which. The creature ignored them, they were plain, they were boring, and weak. Not like the pink one, the pink one was alive and powerful in ways that the others could not even comprehend. That is what had fascinated the creature; that is what made the creature want the pink one.

But it did not want to merely own the pink one – no that would have been easy; that would have been pointless – it wanted to make the pink one _see_ that it belonged to it. So it had shown the pink one what it – or she? Yes the pink one was a she – what she could be capable of with the right instruction; with the right corruption.

The pink one sneered earning concern and fear from the others – the others were ignored; they were not important, not now.

"Don't think you can sell me that bullshit." That was wrong, that was not how the pink one was supposed to speak, its – no, her – her voice was supposed to be a melodic spring, not a growl; and the words seemed wrong to, they were not the words of the pink one that it loved.

Loved?

Yes… that was it… love… for the pink one…

What a strange and unfamiliar emotion.

"You think that you can promise me – of all ponies – dreams?" The pink one spoke on; the thing listened. "If you think that all this power is what I want, what I dream about, then you know what?" the creature did not know 'what' "You'd be right."

Satisfaction.

It had won.

The others seemed shocked horrified even, but they went ignored.

"I do want this. _She_ spends so much time making other ponies happy, giving them what they want. When do _I_ get to get what **I** ** _want!?_** "

She?

"So what if what I want is just to see her suffer? Doesn't she deserve that? After how she's deprived me? Starved me?"

This was not the pink one, it was in the pink one's body and it spoke with the pink one's voice, but it was not the pink one.

"I hate her, I hate her so much. I would gut and burn every living thing just to make her watch, to make her beg." The not pink one wore a sadistic smirk that the being so wished to see on the true pink one's face. "But no matter how much I hate her, she is mine. Mine to twist and corrupt. Mine to tempt and manipulate. I was born of her own mind and I will protect her from any darkness that is not my own – her own."

It stared, the one that was and was not the pink one stared back.

The thing understood.

The thing nodded.

The pink one – the real one – was the only thing that had ever created love within the almost-god. But the one he wished to claim was already claimed by another, and though the other hated while the thing loved it could not have her.

For beings such as himself – him? No, it. Always it – itself, there is no border between possession and affection.

The thing turned away. It was many things but it was not a thief

The thing left. The others were shocked – they were ignored.

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 **Does this even make sense to you? I get it but I wrote it so that doesn't count.**

 **I really need feedback on this one. Should I try to write more like this? Is it crap that should be removed?**


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